


Washed off

by StormXPadme



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awakened from Loki’s spell Clint is trying to focus on the battle ahead, with little success until Natasha decides to give him a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washed off

**Author's Note:**

> title: The Avengers: WASHED OFF  
> cover:  
>   
> author: Storm{X}Padmé  
> disclaimer: All original characters and elements belong to Marvel, the legal owners and everyone paying for them. I’ll give them back, I promise, just borrowing them. I won’t hurt them… much.  
> universe: movieverse ‚The Avengers‘ only  
> timeline: during the movie ‚The Avengers‘  
> formalities:  
> \- italics = memory, dreams or emphasis  
> \- ‚ ‚-marks = thoughts, telepathy or indirect speech  
> feedback: is not only appreciated but hugged, petted, caressed and called George :D  
> beta: [purely_distel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/purely_distel/pseuds/purely_distel)

**_The Avengers  
WASHED OFF_ **

****  
__  


**T** hey are probably short on time, depending on a trace of Loki’s current whereabouts being found or not. Taking a good long shower though, is still on top of his priority list.  
Basic hygiene was among the things simply not existent these past few days. One of these human trivialities simply not counting, as little as eating and drinking, or sleeping for that matter.  
He’s had his nutriment shots to stay on his feet and that’s been fine. He’s done longer shifts without a single minute of rest. Personal matters propose weakness in the sight of a God. His mind wasn’t reformed to question.  
So he’s only mildly surprised to find himself looking like shit when entering the infirmary bathroom, seeing his own face for the first time since leaving P.E.G.A.S.U.S..

Taking a hit to the head, hard enough to hear all the angels sing and a huge cup of coffee, his favorite, black and strong… Well, Natasha certainly knows how to wake him up. He begins to feel something like normal again though he might not look it. Not stable, not really clean, not even after spending a couple of minutes in icy cold water, but normal.  
Yet he is waiting in vain for his mind to be washed clean as well, heavily leaning on his arms resting against the grayish tiles, with his eyes firmly shut. Nothing, just that strong stream stinging whatever bruises he has earned from nearly killing his partner. And the ones from the night before. There is still a heavy buzz in his head but the painkillers start to kick in. Pain – that kind of pain at least – has never been much of an issue.

He should be getting on, hurrying. He is pretty sure Tasha is still waiting in the room nearby when she really should be somewhere else. Both of them should be. Reporting on the bridge, helping to plot whatever Fury now has in mind to find and take down Loki. Clint doubts they will stand much of a chance but then again it’s not like he has much to lose. If this will be it, he knows at least he tried to make some of it right. Not that it would matter, count, be enough. It never will be.

Tasha tried to tell him otherwise, probably even meaning it, thinking that what he did under Loki’s spell is nothing compared to the horrors filling her own ledger. That’s why Clint is not much in a hurry to get back to her for once. She won’t understand and he is too fucking tired to try and make her.

Probably better to spend some time apart when the job is done, one way or another. Maybe forever, just to go sure. Once they’re done with that Asgardian bastard, Clint doubts he will come back here. He is not of any use as an agent anymore and he can think of better ways to spend his time than filing psychological reports and having his mind being studied in the lab.

So, yes… It’s very likely it is the last afternoon to be with her. Considering that, until an hour or so ago, there was nothing on his mind but putting an arrow through her spine and watching her bleed out, while pounding the last of life out of her, it’s probably for the better.  
Clint is not in the mood to tell her that little gem but he thinks she will be fine with this ending. An ending without any more complications. They have had enough of that on the way.

Part of his exhausted mind realizes he begins to feel better, relaxing into this only safety that he’s got left to offer now, to her and everything important to him.  
He will be in that last stand because there is unfinished business with Loki. If they’re actually to survive, he can go back to where he came from, where he can’t do any more harm. Few more pills and another cup, then he should be up for the challenge.  
The tremble of his hands, crucially dangerous to a man with his skills, is gone. The cold water didn’t exactly relax the cords of steel that have replaced his muscles but that might come in handy once they are leaving. To stay wound up, to stay focused. There can be no moment of weakness anymore, no second of resting. He can do without a repetition of what happened the last time he did not pay attention. Time to open his eyes- he’s ready for another round.

That’s what he thinks until a small hand silently creeps up his bare shoulder, causing him to spin around, shoving his attacker forcefully against the wall. He holds a death grip on a thin white throat, anger, awareness and that deafening urge of revenge coloring his mind with shades of bloody red.  
When he realizes it is Natasha staying perfectly still under his brute force, eyes wide open, a soothing whisper on her lips, his heart drops.  
Nothing is back to normal. Nothing at all.

There it goes, the ongoing strain in his body, his knees giving in as he yanks his hand away from hers. The coldness of the metal ground slowly fills his cells, freezing that sudden heat, the frightening blind urge guided by only his darkest emotions, as if he never escaped that goddamn spell.  
Where is it now, this focus leading him through the deepest shit in his life? All the betrayals by his father, his mentors, his very own brother… He’s made it through all this because there was always the next target to look forward to. Now there’s nothing left.  
Only a poor excuse of a soldier, having been turned against everyone and everything that pulled his sorrow ass out of the gutter. Did he actually fool himself for a few minutes he can live with it? That he can because that is what he always did- shrug it off and move on?

That is at least what _she_ does, and she’s always been the reason to return to this shitty place of dictators and warlords, whenever Clint has been struggling with a mission. She’s been the one to stitch him up and fuck sense into him when he awoke screaming, that blood dusted picture of his last victim in his dreams reminding him how very comfortable it would be never to ask, just to accept.

Maybe he’s had that whole Loki-thing coming. What else is he but a killer for other people’s causes? With Natasha though, even that has been right. She is the only person he used to feel fucking right with, yet he has betrayed her too.  
Maybe it is better to grab his stuff and get the hell out of this place right away, before somebody else gets hurt. Clint’s mind tells him to do just that, preferably while there’s enough chaos on the Helicarrier for anyone to stop him.  
But his body doesn’t react to his will, not moving a bit. _Is_ he really free of that freaking spell? Maybe all of this is just another ride on the Asgardian mind-fuck-coaster.  
Or maybe it is just too convenient, staying crouched in the darkness of this corner, cords of cold tears still washing over him, sharpening whatever reason is left in him. The blackness of his face deeply buried on one knee is a well-known and treasured friend. Just a few more moments to breathe, to try and regain that stable center he has built his life around. He wants to walk out of this place with his head held high at least.  
He expected Tasha to leave, now that he’s proven what she did not want to hear back there in that room. With the slowly ceasing shivers of his skin he realizes the water temperature has been changed, shaped now into a soft spray to wash away the last traces of this outburst when he slowly lifts his head.

She is right in front of him, this time waiting though, making sure, before putting her arms around him. His attempts to resist are weakened by the missing of any kind of adrenaline. Plus his body begins to remember that Tasha got his shoulder sprained pretty badly in that little not-so-harmless combat before.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want her to leave. Maybe he’s longed for that hug ever since he woke up out there, spotting her sitting way too far from him. It was that usual distance they prefer when somebody is watching. Now there isn’t anyone, still it is quite brave of her to come that close, considering he could easily have snapped her neck half a minute ago.  
“Feeling suicidal, red?”

“Not any more than usual.” Her fingertips ghost over his temple, his cheek, assuring him she knows it’s not the shower’s wetness and that it is okay. She has seen him in worse states, now that he thinks of it.

Clint is actually holding on pretty well compared to... let’s say Afghanistan. But back then didn't need to be afraid to kill her just by accident. This time there’s more strength in the effort to slip from her grip. Not any more success though.  
“Back off, will you? Killed enough people for one day.”

“Last time you tried to kill me you ended up with this.” She’s blunt, emotionless when she touches that bump on his forehead, reduced to nothing but a soft throb by the meds.  
Not letting go of his hand she sits back on her heels beside him, giving him at least some of the space he is asking for. Obviously she is not done with her kind of therapy yet. Clint can’t help but wonder if she has come for another kind of procedure before he lunged at her, considering she is not wearing anything herself.  
More probably she just came to help cleaning up… both of them. They have shared bathrooms before, more than once. Years of going on missions together reduced that instinctive attraction from the day they first met to a well-kept and treasured passion whenever the time and place was right. Today it clearly isn’t.  
“I told you this will take time, Clint. Thought I was joking?“  
She is sweet, still caring, still trying to make something right that she has paid off a hundreds of times already. Today she did it again and still she is not willing to stop, it seems. But this time she is following a wrong assumption, thinking that there is a way he can heal. Or that he even wants to.

„Some things don’t go away with time.“ Raising her arm, uncovering what she tried to hide on the side of her body, he lets go off her again, rapidly as if she’s burned him.

It is worse than expected. This isn’t some fall she took during the explosion his arrow caused. It cannot have been one of these morons he has hired for Loki either. None of them would have come close enough to leave the side of her chest battered like that.  
No… Natasha must have been in the worst line of fire, just like expected. She has always been more worried than it was good for her when it was about Banner. She has been too close, far too close. Her leg is not doing all that well either, visibly swollen in spite of all that cold water she just bathed in.

All of this… His fucking fault. She has never been much of a masochist so he can’t help but wonder what she is doing here.  
“Leave it be, Nat. You’ve paid your debt. Think I’ve left enough scars on you for a lifetime.”  
Suddenly freezing even before he turns off the water, hitting the lever roughly, Clint is fast to get up now.

He does not get as far as stepping out of the cabin before Natasha pulls him back, making use of that damage she has left on his right shoulder. It is her turn to violently push him against the thin wall, the half transparent glass rattling with the sudden wrath darkening her green eyes.  
“You don’t fucking run from me, Barton.”  
Angling her elbow on exactly that aching part of his shoulder, her free hand moves to her own body, touching just the same spot. The heat of the water flushed her skin but Clint can still see the pale lines of a gaping wound more than 10 years old. “Should have thought about leaving marks before you pointed that damn arrow here instead of my head. We’re in this together. I’m not losing you to some rejected child with a phallus stick and too many delusion of grandeur.”  
Releasing some of the pressure, she lowers her arm enough to take a step closer, now urging his body to the wall with her nude form instead of her strength, reminding him it’s been too long.

Just another base instinct taking over really… One that does not hurt but is just as dangerous nonetheless.  
There is a soft glint of aggressive fear in her eyes, and he loves her too much to ignore it. So he just softly cups her face with his hands this time before her lips will be too close. This is to end right away, before her scent, so close, sweetly surrounding him, might take over, or the warmth of her leg moving closer to his.  
She got closer to him than he should have let her, right from the start. If he doesn’t tell her now it’s wrong, that he cannot stand even thinking of what he was so close doing to her… Then it will be too late.  
Maybe it’s too late already.  
“Nat… I can’t…”

“You won’t. You’re here. With me.” Knowing all he can’t tell her she softly runs her fingertips across his forehead again.  
“I’m here to watch. Give me this one chance, Clint. I need it. It’s me, _I_ can’t…”  
She stops, breathing faster without him having even touched her. They will have to be careful, if this is really what she wants. Her knowing this, her making this promise is something of a reassurance.

Maybe it was he needed to hear to give in.  
Maybe he does because she seems to depend on him just as much as he depends on her.

“I need to feel safe for just a few more minutes.”  
Like him, she doesn’t have to explain, go into details about all that happened while he’s been trapped in his own fucking mind. She’s scarred just like he is.

If Clint cannot find any reason for himself to escape this madness, short as it might be, he can as well accept hers.

She must have realized the change. Maybe she’s seen it in his eyes not darting away from hers any longer. Maybe she felt the tension in his back finally giving in, felt him leaning back against the wall, more tired than ever.

A weakness his body starts to forget the second their lips meet, neither of them knowing who made the move. It has been years and it’s like not one day has passed. She is stale and coffee, metal and salt on his tongue and still he wouldn’t want to miss a second.  
He feels her whimper more than he hears it, realizing his hands came to rest far below her shoulders though he cannot remember ordering them to. His thumbs are busy already with teasing the side of her bare breasts, wiping the last of the cooling water from her skin and feeling a new damp layer of excitement emerging. It is glistening on the small of her back, on the elegant line of her neck, willingly tilted aside when he starts exploring the softness of her skin with his mouth.  
There are plenty of things about her he remembers even now that he is struggling with picking up his old life. None of what happened lately seems to matter with Natasha’s hand forcefully clutching into his hair when he finds that spot below her ear, ever so sensitive for his sucking lips.

She is losing it already, years of want starting to show, in the way her leg hooks behind his thighs, her hips pressing against the growing heat between his legs. Yet she is not dazed enough to not hiss something unmistakable when he intensifies his administrations, using his teeth to draw some more of these sweet moans from her lips. She hates marks like these, especially when they are both on the clock. But well, she is certainly not using all her strength trying to stop him, so…

_…moving with what grace is left in a devoured and dying body, but he’s got her pinned down. Gone from her the force he has once fallen in love with. Back then when that concept had any meaning left. Her dying eyes are pleading but she won’t beg, not even now. He uses her own knife to cut her suit off her body, revealing her graying skin, covered in her own blood for a change. A weak twitch of her leg gives her another deep wound, not chance by any possibility. There is not enough air in her lungs for another scream when he rests his hand on the fresh cut, forcing her legs apart, keeping that new gap closed when he brings their bodies together for their last reunion. He’s got no intention to let this end earlier than planned. It has always been her who has kept him on the line, so as far as he is concerned it’s about time for a change._

“Clint. Look at me.” He has backed off quickly enough, with enough drive to have the slide bar poking painfully in his back. He only realizes when Natasha softly puts her hand on his chest. “It’s alright. It’s only in your head.”

“That not bad enough? Thought someone like you would know better.” He’s got to stifle a rough laugh, not wanting to hurt her even more than with denying her what he just cannot give her. It’s not her fault.  
“Let’s get to the others. This…” He hardly feels his lips when he leaves a kiss on the inside of her hand, softly pushing her aside to finally get back to business. “Sorry, red, I... I just can’t.”

“Look at me.”  
This time it’s an order, not a question, the kind of order she gives him on a battlefield when she is in charge. The one not to question if he is not keen on fucking up the whole mission.

Clint finds himself listening still, turning on instinct, and mildly wonders if that is what it’s come to. If that is what is left of his mind. Nothing but following orders.  
Only with her it doesn’t feel like he is giving a part of himself up because she is the only person to see him through, his desire, his fear, his deepest sorrows. There is nothing to be afraid of with her. There was a time when he knew that. Maybe a part of him still does.  
Yet he has tried already. He is not sure he can handle another flashback, another one of these pictures Loki’s mind-control planted in his head. “Tash’...”

“Don’t.” Her fingertips shut his lips, her mouth following, for nothing more than a soft brush. This time she keeps her eyes open, making sure he does the same.  
“Just… look at me. Stay out of the darkness.”  
There’s no restraints now, no wall in his back, not her nails digging into his skin, not even the arousing grip of her legs.  
She gives him time to remember the soft feeling of her pouty mouth right there where she whispered these words into his ear. Her tongue lazily laps at the sensitive area around his hearing implant cable. Her breathing is hot, close and calm on his skin when she nibbles on his earlobe, her body relaxing into his hands finding their way back to her back, her ass, drawing her just a bit closer.

He enjoys her heavy sighs too much to not give her more, massaging the tight flesh beneath his hands and feeling her grinding against him. They are hot and panting just as quickly as before, but now they take whatever time they have left before duty calls.  
Clint is accepting what Natasha is offering him, never letting her off his heavy lidded sight, pushing damp strands of her curly red her out of her face when she bends her head to follow that slow pace of her tongue exploring his body. Like him she is fast to remember the sensitive places she used to know and to find the scars she doesn’t.

There is a hint of mischief in her eyes when she randomly brushes one of his hardened nipples, drawing a startle from him, nothing but lust this time.  
Her expression changes to pleasure and impatience with his fingertips moving between her firm cheeks, dipping in that small of her wetness, drawing slow circles on the sensitive mound but never getting too close.  
There’s something incoherent and probably not too nice on her lips before she puts them to far better use, biting down hard on him, earning an audible moan from his dry mouth. Now it’s his hand on her leg drawing her close, lifting it up his hip. And this is just fine, the soft way she is caressing him with those taut muscles of hers, rubbing her hot center right against him until he’s writhing against her.

It’s nice and passionate and much too slow. They can’t stay here forever. Reluctantly letting go off her, Clint silently urges Natasha to lay down with him, seeking a position for her that will not cause even more pain. The small room doesn’t exactly resemble S.H.I.E.L.D.’s highest comfort standards, but it will do.  
Smooth ceramic against his burning skin helps him push back that returning urge to finish it right away.

Natasha is not helping any though, pressing all of her body against him like that, covered with lust and strain and the flavor they are creating with their hips tightly entwined. Not yet.  
This time she lets go right away when he is making the tiniest move down her body. Whether she is still trying to give him the safety he needs or just longs for his touch… It’s nice to know he can still have her reacting that way, arching her back when his lips worship her pale skin, his tongue teasing her pebbled nipples. She does nothing but holding on to him now when her hand is deeply buried in his hair, silently urging him to where she really needs him to be.  
It is not often she allows him go down on her. Maybe it is because of her needing him in the same familiar way he wants to feel her close to him. She is dripping already when he starts touching her, his thumb finding her swollen clit while feeling her moist folds, urging her apart till she grinds down her hip with a small cry, drawing him in, riding two of his fingers while he keeps licking and stroking that most sensitive little spot. Her scent is enthralling, it is all her with every drop on his chin, on his tongue, bliss and memory dampening his senses and this time it’s okay.

She makes him let go of the last of his demons, thrusting against his face, covering him with her sweetness… Soothing him with trust he knows she does not feel for anyone else. She feels it even now when a broken ghostly part inside of him, created by strange entity, might still dream of killing her.  
It is a nightmare he thinks he can live with as long as there is still this one person around believing he is more than that.

Natasha’s voice, huskily calling for him, tells him he has been off for another second, without any fear or panic this time, though. Just softly resting his lips on her thigh, giving her a moment to relax, his ears still ringing from her scream of pleasure, stroking her legs with just one hand.

She does not need a break. The hint of need in her wide pupils quickens his heart’s pace immediately, reminding him of the throbbing ache her gorgeous body never fails to leave inside him.

He lets her pull him close, guide him home without putting any more pressure onto her tortured chest than necessary. He is relieved to see she is still with him with enough care, not trying to pull him any closer, ignoring her pain as she would have done it any other night. They’ve been in enough of it for today. And it’s very likely there’s much more to come.  
At least for a few minutes Clint wants to do nothing than hold her close, her head resting on his hand, her face deeply buried in the crook of his neck until his skin is wet with her sweat, her sighs, her moans.  
Maybe there is a tear or two. He doesn’t look or care and neither does she.

It is fast and satisfying, not lasting long enough to get her going for a second time, though. But she won’t let him hold back, lifting her head just enough to restart her ministrations from before, stroking just that right spot at his ear with the tip of her tongue. Eventually she starts pushing inside along with his rhythm, and that is when there’s no stopping anymore.  
Natasha does not care for any making up either, not today, just silently holding him close, running her fingertips through his hair while he is all sprawled over her, trying to catch his breath enough to get up. Another shower probably will be appropriate before duty finally calls.  
Because it sure does and Clint won’t run from it, he knows that now. Natasha has once more been successful with a mission.

Only this never was about returning to a job that may or not want him back. He knew before but it is nice anyway to have her smile at him when he pulls her up. It is that one soft smile she seems to keep reserved just for him, without any bitterness, melancholic but never too sad.  
“Welcome home, Clint.”


End file.
